


in the clear yet, good

by fliptomybside



Series: born to live without you [2]
Category: One Direction (Band), Taylor Swift (Musician)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Future, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-30
Updated: 2015-11-30
Packaged: 2018-05-02 23:41:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5268287
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fliptomybside/pseuds/fliptomybside
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They're not coming back from this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	in the clear yet, good

**Author's Note:**

> Sometimes I project all of my own insecurities onto Taylor Swift, and then I write about it. This is that. It's also a follow up to I hope the cracks in the pavement lead back to you, so you should probably read that first. Title (obviously) from Taylor Swift's Out of the Woods, unbeta-ed so all mistakes are mine, please don't let the real people that this is about see this, etc. etc.

Taylor wakes up, and Harry’s pressed all along her back, skin on skin. He’s like a furnace, he’s so warm. And so naked, god. The skin of her thighs is sticking together a little bit, from last night’s sweat and this morning’s heat. She grimaces. She needs a shower. She needs her own apartment, and maybe the next twenty years to sort out her head.

It’s awkward, weirdly. For all the morning afters she and Harry have spent together, she doesn’t know how to navigate this one. Even though no one can see anything, even though they’re alone in his apartment, in his bed, Taylor feels self conscious. She never sleeps naked, especially when she’s sleeping with someone. It’s not a prude thing. She’s not a prude. It’s just—protection, or something. It’s difficult for her to put into words. 

But she’s here, with Harry, naked under the covers, and he’s naked, too, and she could write another album about this right here. It would be different than the first one, just like they’re different. Tense. Uncertain. Less about finding herself in the absence of someone and more about losing herself in their presence. 

Harry snuffles into her neck, and his breath is hot and Taylor feels like she’s crawling out of her skin. 

“You been awake long?”

Harry’s voice is still rough and it hits deep in her chest. Maybe this is what he sounds like all the time now. Maybe she just forgot. 

“Five minutes, maybe. My sleep schedule’s still fucked from Australia and LA,” Taylor says, and she tries to swallow down the nerves in her throat. 

Harry doesn’t respond, but his lips find the back of her neck and it feels warm and good and like everything she wishes she didn’t want. 

He’s so gentle, not insistent, just steady. His lips make their way down to the first knob in her spine, and he pulls her in flush against him.

Taylor isn’t used to wanting, not like this.

She rolls over anyway, into the circle of his arms, and his face is startling up close. She can see the faint shadow of hair on his upper lip, the small imperfections on his skin. He blinks so slowly.

Harry’s staring at her lips, and they’re so close and the space between them is getting smaller and smaller and he’s sliding over her and pressing his lips against hers and it’s just as good as it was earlier. 

His mattress is just right amount of soft, and Taylor feels herself sinking into it as Harry presses against her. She can feel him, his dick is half hard and his hips are moving so, so slowly. She whines a little into his mouth, and he slips his tongue into her mouth and she surges up into it. 

It’s hot, almost suffocatingly so, underneath Harry and a pile of blankets, but Taylor can’t stop. Doesn’t want to. 

Harry sucks on what must be the mark he made when they were in his kitchen. Taylor shivers at the memory. It stings as he works his teeth over it, but he soothes the bite with his tongue and she knows that it’ll be hard to hide.

She threads her hands through his hair, and it’s surprisingly soft. Harry works his way down her neck, across her chest where she’s too bony, she knows, and she gasps when he sucks a nipple into his mouth. 

Taylor remembers before, the first few times they did this, when she was even more shy than she is now. She remembers the blush that crept onto her cheeks the first time Harry palmed her breast, how good it felt, how embarrassed she felt for wanting it so much.

This is better, she thinks, and she pushes any other thoughts out of her head. 

Her hands slide out of his hair as he makes his way down her stomach. He nips at her hip bones, and Taylor tries to settle, but she knows Harry’s endgame and it’s been so long and she wants. 

Harry looks up at her as he settles between her legs.

“This okay?” he asks, even as he gently pushes her knees apart. 

She nods furiously and it feels like her whole body is blushing but she doesn’t care. 

She closes her eyes and when Harry spreads her folds apart with his thumbs and licks up her center, sure and confident, she groans so loudly she surprises herself. She can feel Harry grin against her, and he slides a long finger inside her and latches onto her clit and it’s so much all at once that she feels like she’s floating outside her body.

He pulls off for a second, lets her breathe, and kisses the inside of her thighs as he curls his middle finger inside her. She’s panting now, grinding down onto his finger, and she’s close but it’s not quite enough, not yet. 

Harry has always been good at this, Taylor thinks. _Lots of experience_ , her brain says, and she pointedly doesn’t think about that. She doesn’t think about that because Harry’s got another finger in her now, and he’s working at her clit with these short, hard licks, and it’s too much but she’s pushing down onto his face and all she can think about his how wet his face must be getting as her orgasm crashes through her.

He’s gentle in the aftermath, licking her softly one last time and sliding his fingers out slowly. 

Taylor feels wobbly, and even more so when she sees how shiny his lips and his chin are before he wipes them off, grinning. He’s hard, she can see his cock bobbing between his legs as he sits up, which, okay, he’s twenty one, but the thought of Harry getting off on her getting off is intoxicating. 

She pulls her legs up, away from Harry and back together as he flops down next to her, hand already circling his dick. She’s fascinated with the way he jerks himself off, his thumb swiping across the head, smearing the pre come that gathered there into his skin.

He works himself up so fast Taylor’s worried he’ll come before she gets a hand on him. She feels spacey, still coming down from Harry’s mouth on her, but she’s already regretting this, even as she itches to put her hands on him. 

She can hear the quiet whines in his throat, so she licks her palm and reaches out to bat his hand away.

“I don’t think this is a good idea,” Taylor whispers, her hand practiced and sure on Harry’s dick. She rubs his thumb over the head, knows how sensitive he is there. He’s close, she can tell. His breath is coming quicker and quicker and he’s leaking steadily at the tip, and even though Taylor just came, she can feel the stab of want between her legs. It’s involuntary. She hates it and she craves it all at once. 

Harry’s brow is furrowed, and she’s pretty sure he heard her, so she crawls down, folds herself in between his legs, and licks at the tip of his cock. He gasps and his hand weaves into her hair. He doesn’t hold her there, just touches her. She can see his stomach muscles jumping, and seeing him like this, under her hands and her mouth, gives her a rush so heady she thinks performing is the only thing that comes close.

His eyes are squeezed shut now, so Taylor inhales sharply through her nose and sucks him down as far as she can, her hand covering what her mouth can’t, and Harry’s hips jerk up so quickly that she almost has to pull off.

“Sorry, sorry, I—” Harry gasps, and he sounds so far away, like Taylor’s underwater or something.

She swallows around him, hand still jerking him at the base, and that’s it, he’s coming down her throat and panting like he was seconds away from drowning. She feels a small flicker of satisfaction deep down with the bitter taste of him still in her mouth. 

Taylor pulls off, sits back on her knees, and wipes her mouth. She feels painfully turned on and exposed. She’s sure Harry can see exactly how much she wants him. She doesn’t want to be naked anymore. Her nipples are hard and she’s worried that Harry can smell how wet she is and she wishes she could disappear. 

She shuts her eyes and inhales deep and slow, like somehow that’ll help. Selena’s been into all kinds of meditation and breathing exercises, and Taylor never put much stock in that kind of thing, but in this moment, she’s desperate. 

When she opens her eyes again, Harry’s looking at her. His breathing has slowed, chest rising and falling gently. He moves to sit up at the same moment that Taylor tries to slide away, his hand landing on her hip.

“Hey,” Harry starts, and she gets up and he lets her, voice fading and hand falling off her body as she grabs her borrowed t-shirt off the floor. She pulls it over her head quickly and pads to the bathroom to get her clothes, still painfully aware of her nakedness and the taste of Harry in her mouth. 

Everything’s folded neatly where she left it, and it looks as out of place as she feels in Harry’s slick, minimal master bathroom. 

When she turns around, still tugging her stockings into place and pulling down her shirt, Harry is standing in the doorway. He’s naked, and he looks like he belongs here. Fuck, sometimes she forgets how much she hates being left, sometimes when she looks at him, she wonders why she ever walked away. 

Taylor clears her throat in the silence. She doesn’t know what to do with her hands, doesn’t know what to say, doesn’t know how they’re going to survive this. If she wants them to. 

“Are you okay?” Harry says, and his voice is more gentle than the Taylor of three years ago would’ve thought he was capable of. He doesn’t sound as steady as he did yesterday in his kitchen when he told her they were going to be okay.

Taylor wonders how they got from Ed’s hotel room, the three of them laughing on a bed together, to here, with all this nakedness. 

“I don’t think I am, not anymore, I just—” a half sob half laugh creeps out of her throat, and she can’t give anything else away, not now. Not in this moment. 

“I don’t have anything left for this. Maybe for anything, I don’t know. I feel like a sponge, okay, like I’ve sucked up everything I can and I’m too full and I just need to dry out and shrivel up,” she says, and Harry is so hard to look at because he’s not going anywhere, he’s still standing in front of her, naked as the day he was born, and she’s used to him always moving. Always leaving. 

He shifts his weight, leaning against the doorway, and he looks less heroic. Tired. More like her. 

“It’s shit, okay. I know it’s shit. Maybe even almost as well as you. Y’know, I left my mum and Robin and Gem when I was sixteen and I’m never gonna be that person again.”

He straightens and takes a step towards the sink, reaches for his toothbrush.

“I’m saying you’re not by yourself. Or you don’t have to be, if you don’t wanna,” Harry shrugs as he runs it under the sink. He won’t look at her now, and she deserves that. 

“You’ll never really be yourself again, like, people are always going to be claiming parts of you that you don’t want to give them, I just. I dunno. Sometimes it’s shit and that’s all there is. But you’re not the only one.”

Harry starts brushing his teeth. It’s so mundane and methodical in the face of what he just said, like he didn’t just pull words straight out of her head. 

Taylor doesn’t know what to do. She’s having trouble adjusting to this Harry, still bright eyed and young, but also tired and not so enamored with being famous anymore. 

So she brushes her hand down his back, looks at the smooth skin and feels the bumps of his spine. Doesn’t look at his face in the mirror. Doesn’t look back as she walks out and shuts the door behind her.

She leans against it and listens as Harry turns the shower on. The bed is a mess, the sheets everywhere, and they did that. She closes her eyes and tries to breathe in deep and puts her heels back on and walks out, the click, click, click of her shoes echoing in Harry’s quiet apartment.

-

Taylor waits until she’s in the lobby of Harry’s apartment to call a car. She doesn’t want to go outside, doesn’t want anyone to see her or talk about where she’s been or who she’s with. 

She texts Selena, _‘did something you would do. but then something i would do? how do you deal with consequences? i think this is the hard part.’_

She doesn’t get an answer, and _‘delivered’_ remains firmly beneath the message, and when the read receipt doesn’t show up right away, Taylor locks her phone and slides it into her bag. It’s early in Los Angeles. Not so much in New York. 

Sleep in her own apartment is what she needs. Just, twenty four hours to process everything. A week, maybe. Taylor picks at her cuticles again. Her index finger feels swollen, almost. She should stop, probably. 

Her phone buzzes in her bag. Taylor’s heart jumps. She hopes it’s Selena, but it’s just a notification that her car has arrived.  
-

The car ride from Harry’s apartment to hers is less than fifteen minutes, but Taylor can’t keep still. She feels trapped. There are a million things running through her mind. She thinks she saw someone with a camera when she hurried out of the lobby of Harry’s building, it’s seven am and her sleep schedule is shot to hell, she’s alone in New York, Karlie’s in London and Selena’s in LA and she’s too embarrassed to tell Ed what happened yet.

Taylor knows that Harry is almost as close with Ed as she is, and in the space that it takes for her to get from the car up to her apartment, she worries that Harry will get to him first. That he’ll tell him she left without a word or a note. There’s a tiny part of her that worries he’ll tell Ed what she asked for, but she squashes that thought as quickly as it appears. No. It’s not—Harry wouldn’t, and anyway, it’s not something she should be ashamed of. 

She kicks off her heels at the door and peels off her stockings, sighing with relief and exhaustion as she drops them on the floor of the living room and heads towards her bedroom.

Once she’s stripped down to her underwear and an old t-shirt, she crawls under the covers. Stares up at the ceiling. It’s starting to get light out, and her mind won’t stop running in circles, but she’s so tired it hurts. 

She’s sore. Not terribly, but there’s an ache between her thighs that won’t let her forget.

There’s nothing wrong with what she, with what they did. Nothing, and Taylor knows that, but there’s still part of her deep down that’s full of self loathing because she’s a Good Girl who has Serious Relationships, not casual hookups with boys she used to date. 

Taylor doesn’t know how to do casual. Doesn’t know anything but black and white. She’s never been one for gray areas.

She feels wild in that moment, alone in her bed and she thinks she’s half in love with him, _more than half, probably,_ her brain supplies, and she just tries to keep reminding herself that she chose this. This life, to leave Harry behind, all of it. Running. Always running.

She doesn’t cry. She doesn’t. She presses her palms into her eyelids so hard that she see stars, but she doesn’t cry. Her apartment is empty and she’s always known that it’s extravagant, but in this moment it feels huge and empty and like something that doesn’t belong to her, not really. 

The cats are in Nashville with her parents. Taylor wishes they weren’t, wishes that her poker face was good enough to retrieve them without endless questions from her mom and concerned looks from her dad. It’s not, though. They know her too well, and she should be grateful for it. But for once she doesn’t want people to read her like a diary. She wants something that’s just hers. No one else’s. 

-

When Taylor wakes up, it’s dark outside. She fumbles around for her phone and finds it shoved under one of her pillows. It’s seven o’clock at night, and here’s a text message and a missed call from Selena, and a text from Harry.

She opens Selena’s message first. She’s nervous, pulse thrumming. 

_‘spill? whatever it is im sure u can fix it. did u drunk txt adam?’_

She closes out the message and opens Harry’s. 

_‘x,’_ is all it says, and what’s she supposed to do with that? 

She calls Selena. The phone almost rings out, and Taylor can feel her hands start to sweat. She pushes the sheets off with her feet.

“Hey,” Selena says, and it’s annoying that just the sound of her voice makes Taylor want to cry. Maybe she should’ve stayed in LA. 

“I fucked up, a little,” she whispers. Selena doesn’t answer right away, and Taylor can hear her closing the door of whatever room she’s in.

“What happened?” 

Taylor inhales sharply.

“Harry was with Ed when I met up with him.”

“And?” Selena’s voice is gentler than she deserves.

“We had sex in his kitchen? This morning, because he wanted me to see his new place in New York, and we fell asleep, and he was basically naked making me tea this morning,” Taylor pushes out in a rush.

“I didn’t even know Harry was living in New York, I thought he was staying in LA mostly? Anyway, that’s not so bad, right? Harry’s like, a gentleman, and all that.”

Taylor closes her eyes. Her legs are cold now.

“I left this afternoon, though, without telling him. He was in the shower and I didn’t even know what to say, all I wanted to do was run out of his apartment.”

Selena hums into the phone. Waits.

“Like, it wasn’t something he did. He listened and he’s always so patient and says all the right things and he gets it? The fame thing, I mean, but I know how it is with him. I know how we are and I can’t do that again.”

Taylor isn’t sure what’s harder, the thought of trying with Harry again or leaving him behind forever. She doesn’t think there’s a middle ground, here.

“What do you want to do?” Selena asks carefully.

“Hide forever. Never let anyone see my face again.”

She huffs out a laugh.

“Don’t think that’s possible, babe. Short of buying an island, anyway.”

“I thought about it. I mean. Half-seriously thought about it, when I landed.”

“Maybe you should give yourself some time. Some space. But then think about it. Like, what you actually want. There’s no pressure, you know? Don’t write anyone off.”

It’s good advice, Taylor knows. 

“I mean, it was good though, right? Better than before, probably, because you know—”

Taylor squawks into the phone.

“Look, I’m just saying, we’ve all seen the picture, and I’m sure he’s only improved in three years.”

Taylor laughs, and it surprises her, bubbling up in her throat. 

“He’s—he’s the best I’ve ever had. Not that the list is long, or anything, but. God. Yeah, he’s pretty fucking good. Better, too.”

“Okay, so you got yours. And maybe you’ll be good together, and maybe you won’t, but just give yourself a little time. Did he text you or anything? When he realized you were gone?”

“An x, that’s it. I didn’t respond because what do you even say to that? I’m not sure what I want yet, and I don’t know how to deal with that. I don’t know how to get through this again? I don’t want to be unfair.”

Selena sighs and it sounds fond and exasperated all at once.

“It doesn’t have to be one thing or another. I mean, it’s good to know where you stand, but you can relax, too? Just feel it out. See what happens.”

“I haven’t even eaten yet today, I can’t focus on anything, I can’t decide what coast I want to be on, I just. I feel like I can’t do anything right now.”

“You can, though. You could before and you can now, and people fuck up all the time, and the world doesn’t end. Let yourself be sad or mad or whatever and then brush yourself off and move on. That’s it, Tay. I know you know.”

Taylor feels hollow. Achey, like a bruise that’s been pressed over and over again. She runs her fingers over the mark Harry left on her throat. She presses her nail in and it stings. Proof.

“I know, I’m just gonna. I’m going to eat and then come back, probably. I. I’ll let you know when I get in.”

She hangs up before Selena can respond. It’s hard to listen to everyone telling her she’s going to be okay, even though she knows it’s true. She’s had it worse than this. Millions of people have it worse than she ever will. 

There’s a selfish part of Taylor that doesn’t want to acknowledge that anyone else knows what it’s like to live like this. That no one else has ever been picked apart quite like she has. It’s not true, she knows. But sometimes she just needs to wallow in self pity for a while. 

-

 _‘Hey,’_ Taylor types out. _‘I think we should talk. I need a few days to sort myself out, but if you want, I’ll be in LA next week. My address is the same.’_

She locks her phone. What’s done is done, she thinks. She grabs her carry-on bag and swallows some melatonin and hopes it’s enough so she’ll sleep through the plane ride.

-

Waiting, Taylor knows, is hard. She’s never been a patient person, but this is reaching _I’m gonna find out how many copies of my album sold in its first week levels._ She can’t stop fidgeting, tapping on every surface, locking and unlocking her phone. 

They’re in her kitchen, making up for last week’s missed baking date. Taylor isn’t sure how she feels about almond flour, Selena’s doing all the work, and Taylor can’t stop thinking. 

Selena swipes the phone right out of her unsuspecting hands. 

“Taylor. I’m saying this from a place of love. You really, really need to chill. Stop. Stop thinking, stop obsessing, there literally isn’t a single thing you can do. If he’s going to show up, he’s going to show up, and then you can take it from there,” Selena says in a rush, putting Taylor’s phone on the counter behind her. 

Taylor shuts her eyes and blows her bangs off of her forehead and drums on the counter top.

“It’s fine, I just simultaneously feel like I’ve ruined what could be a relationship and rushed into something too soon after Adam. Oh, and Harry and I have done this before and look how well that turned out.”

Selena narrows her eyes.

“Well, for starters, there aren’t rules that say when it is and isn’t okay for you to be in a relationship, and clearly you and Harry still feel something, otherwise you wouldn’t have continued to kind of be together even after you broke up, and you wrote an incredibly well received album about your relationship, so all things considered, it didn’t actually turn out as badly as you seem to think.”

Taylor hops up from her seat at the counter and grabs the special cookie scoop she bought at Williams-Sonoma when she was in New York a few months ago out of Selena’s hands. 

“I just want to rip the bandaid off, you know? I always want to rip the bandaid off,” Taylor says, resolutely scooping what look like oatmeal chocolate chip cookies onto a baking sheet. 

Selena hip checks her, and Taylor can feel a smile spreading across her face, despite everything. It’s a small smile, but it’s warm in the kitchen and she doesn’t have any obligation to be anywhere anytime soon and maybe things with Harry will turn out okay. Maybe they won’t. Either way, she’ll still be here. 

“It’s one of the things I love best about you, and when he gets here and you talk, then you can rip the fucking bandaid off, but until then—”

“Until then let’s just watch SVU and eat cookies?”

Selena smiles and Taylor can do this, she can. She swallows down the nausea about everything but this moment, right here. 

-

When Harry shows up, it’s been so many days that Taylor almost isn’t expecting it anymore. She knows Harry. Knew Harry, anyway. Eighteen year old Harry who the entire world was in love with, Taylor included. Harry who was in front of her one minute and nowhere to be found the next. 

That was then and this is now, she reminds herself. Harry’s here, in her sunny kitchen and she might throw up. 

Taylor kisses him instead. It feels like all she can do, so she slides her arms around his neck and tangles her fingers in his hair and pulls him towards him and she knows he’s here to talk, but she needs this first. 

It’s tense, this time. Harry is tentative, so much less confident than he was in his kitchen in the cold of New York all those days ago, and he doesn’t seem to know where to touch her or if he’s allowed. 

His lips are chapped against hers, and at first, it’s just soft presses of lips, nothing else, just their bodies tight together in the California sun.

Harry pulls his lips from hers, but she feels him pressed against her, and his hips are moving in tiny, tiny circles, like he still isn’t sure if he should be doing this, or if they should be doing this again. But Taylor is sure now. And so she rolls up to meet him, feels his sharp exhale fan across her cheek. She pulls back for a second, her hands on his shoulders. She needs to talk first, this time. She’s not sure what it is about the two of them and kitchens and not talking.

Harry looks nervous. He’s got a worn Rolling Stones tour t-shirt on, and it’s impossibly soft under her fingertips. He looks nervous, but his hands are on her waist and he’s looking right at her.

She’ll never get tired of his eyes, god. She’ll own every line she ever wrote about them until her dying day. 

“Want some tea? I’ve got English Breakfast,” Taylor says, because she doesn’t know how this conversation is supposed to go. She slides her hands from around his neck and takes a step back.

“I’ll make it,” Harry says, and her stomach clenches because he remembers where everything is, and maybe they haven’t been apart as long as she thought. 

“I’m sorry,” Taylor says to Harry’s back. 

_‘Hot N Hard,’_ Harry’s t-shirt says. She quietly admits to herself that she loves it.

Harry sets the kettle back on her stove top and flicks on the burner before he turns to face her again.

“I’m sorry, too, if I like, pressured you or anything? I know you and Adam aren’t—it just seemed like you needed someone? And I know what that’s like, you know?”

“No! No, you didn’t—I wanted it, Harry. I don’t want you to think it was just you because you were there? But I don’t want you to think I expect anything now, I’m a mess, anyway.”

She exhales sharply and opens her mouth again before Harry can respond.

“I just. I crave being alone, but I don’t want to be lonely, and mostly it just feels impossible to reconcile.”

“’s not quite the same, I don’t think,” Harry murmurs, and if anyone in the world gets it, it’s probably him. 

Taylor’s so tired of being on all the fucking time. So tired of being herself, if she’s honest. She can only imagine how the world feels. She looks down at her feet. Her toenails are painted light blue. She did it yesterday, when she was waiting for Harry to come back. 

The kettle whistles loudly, breaking the silence between them.

“Sometimes I wish I could go back. Me and everyone else, right? But I can’t undo anything. I can’t not be me, you know?”

“You can’t ever get it back, I don’t think. Like, this,” Harry gestures around her kitchen as he pours their tea like it’ll mean something to her. Like he can some how articulate how her life isn’t ever going to be totally hers just by gesturing at her refrigerator. 

“I feel like I’m not allowed to want it anymore. Or, like, I’m not allowed to admit that I want it. That I want people to like me or that I want to be successful, I mean, shit. Who doesn’t want that? Why does it suddenly feel forbidden?”

Harry blows out a breath and runs his fingers through his hair. It’s so long now, and Taylor keeps getting distracted by the way his muscles shift beneath his shirt.

“Doesn’t mean you have to give it all up, necessarily,” he says, crossing his arms and leaning back against the counter. He looks tired, but less nervous.

“And I want whatever you want to give me,” Harry adds, like it doesn't cost him anything. 

Taylor blushes, and she wishes she didn’t telegraph everything that she feels across her face.

“Tea’s probably ready.”

Se knows she’s being obtuse. Harry lets it slide, though, and they pad into her living room and get through an episode of Grey’s Anatomy before she’s ready.

“I want to try. I want to try with you, if that’s something you want.”

Harry leans over kisses her, and it’s sweet and open and she’s still scared, but they can take it a day at a time. And they will. They have time, now, and neither of them are running, not anymore.

He pulls back and he’s just looking at her. Not like he’s seen the light, or anything like that, but like he’s happy and sure. He slides his hand into hers, fingers warm and rings cold, and she closes her eyes and breathes in and holds on tight.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm [here](http://whatmaddiesaid.tumblr.com) on tumblr.


End file.
